Any Last Words
by Seta Suzume
Summary: The final televised interviews of 18 victors.


author's note: the AO3 version has illustrations of all twenty-four victors here to go with it if you like that kind of thing :)

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><p>Twenty-four victors return as tributes and take the stage to speak with Caesar Flickerman one last time. Throughout the process of the show, six other victors speak that day. In one capacity or another, all of them go on to speak formally before a camera again.<p>

For these eighteen, particularly those who went on to die the following morning in the first rush of battle around the Cornucopia, these words serve as a final testament.

**Cashmere Rausch**

"We start out with the Capitol's favorite sister," Caesar launches into a lead-up for Cashmere, who approaches with a perfect walk, a perfect wave, long, wavy hair, and a body many would call "to die for."

"Now there's a title I'm proud to call my own," Cashmere replies, "Knowing that I've meant so much to all of you has made all the difference as I've lived through what might be some of my final days here."

"That reputation is entirely deserved, dear," the host gushes, "Your beauty, your grace, your admirable relationship with your brother… You're a role model to so many girls here in the Capitol. It may be personally lucky for me to receive the opportunity to speak with you again like this, but it's a shame that so soon we'll be losing at least one of you siblings."

"Well, I hope that my presence on your screens can bring you all enough pleasure this one last time to make up for all the days you'll have to go on without me," she dabs at her eye as a perfectly artful spring of tears begins to well up, just enough for this show of emotion to add to her looks rather than detract from them with the messiness of humanity.

"There, there," Caesar puts forth an effort to comfort her. Whether she would truly want him to or not, they both know this is part of the show.

"I-I'm sorry, this isn't the first time, I should be able to control my emotions, but I just can't stop crying every time I think about how much people in the Capitol will suffer losing us. If there's one thing they teach us in District One, it's how to be grateful," Cashmere continues through her television-perfect tears, "And I'll be aiming, in that arena, not to go out without repaying every last bit of debt I owe to the Capitol."

"That's an exquisite sentiment, Cashmere! Exactly the sort of thing I've come to expect from you- exactly what we're all going to miss."

**Gloss Rausch**

"And now 'the Capitol's favorite brother,' right?" Gloss fills in the words he expects Caesar to lead with, "You've loved all us both so much in the time that you've known us I'm not sure I'd know what to do absent the Capitol's attentions! Cash and I are so busy we almost didn't have time to even watch the Quell card be read together." As opposed to Cashmere's primly sexy good posture, Gloss sort of flings himself casually into the chair, endearing in his practiced onstage ease.

"Oh, and think how even more unpleasant that would've made it," Caesar reacts to his words over his body language.

"Most of the important things Cash and I do, we do together. It's funny," Gloss cocks his head at an angle as he smiles, considering it, "Our separate experiences in the Games and what came afterward brought my sister and me closer together than we had been such we were barely school-aged kids. I guess life's unpredictable that way. And, you know, like you were saying to Cash, it's a shame that at least one of us won't be coming back. It's got me wondering if either of us would even mean the same to you without the other."

"Well, there's no doubting that it wouldn't be the same, but I hardly want to suggest to you that neither of you has just as much value on your own and wouldn't be loved just as much if, in the arena, you were forced to leave your sibling behind."

"Heh," Gloss chuckles, "I guess that's right. There'd be any number of kind individuals who would want to try and comfort either of us and fill the void in our lives. I'm not as on top of things as my sister. I forget how wide-reaching the Capitol's consideration for its victors can be- how generous President Snow tends to be to District One in particular."

"Don't beat yourself up about it, Gloss, now of all times," Caesar goes on gently, "Something so overwhelming as that can be hard to fully take in, but we all know that you don't mean anything bad by such small lapses of memory. I know you and Cashmere are both used to coming awfully close to it, but no one's perfect."

Gloss nods, still thoughtful, but not in a way he lets cloud his handsome countenance. "Yeah, that's true. A guy can get lost if he's all wrapped up in his own way of thinking all the time. That's one of the things that's been good about my life as a victor- the chance to get out of my home district and be exposed to other ways of thinking."

"You haven't been one to just rest on your laurels!"

"One way or another we can all better ourselves somehow," Gloss shrugs, "I learned that from my sister. I guess that's my last advice for you, Caesar. It's never too late."

[Enobaria Slate]

**Brutus Rainier**

"I like things to be fair," Brutus says straight out, "I like knowing the rules ahead of time and when I am properly prepared, I am happy to follow those rules."

Brutus has volunteered his way back here and it's easy enough, knowing him, to see the general shape of why he did so and why he says these things. He followed the rules set down in Two to study and train and one day take the stage as the chosen male volunteer. He knew the rules of the Games and he played and survived. He was aware of the rules that guided his life afterward as a victor and he followed them.

For the Third Quarter Quell, the Capitol has broken its own rules. "Unfortunately there seem to have been twists in the schedule of things that we weren't previously aware of," Caesar offers a bittersweet smile laced with sympathy. "Tell me then, why are you here, Brutus, if you were unhappy with the way the rules have been handled?"

"Because things would be even less fair if I weren't," he goes on stoically, "I'm not the one who makes the rules. I don't have that kind of power. The only choice I had when the names were called was whether or not to step up. And in the interests of fairness, I did. Some of us are here because we had to be. Some of us are here because we chose to be."

"Well, I, for one, am glad to see you here again out of all the choices presented us by District Two. Even after all this time you're going to be a fierce competitor."

Brutus manages to share a bit of personal positivity over at least this point. "It's been important to me to stay fit and sharp for myself."

"I think that's admirable. And you've managed beautifully."

"Thank you, Caesar."

"And, I know, in what's soon to come, we will all be able to count on a lovely display of both your well-maintained body as well as your sense of fair play."

If there must be a victor Games, let it be like this: "Let's have a good, clean Games," Brutus says, all the while knowing better than he did the first time around, that in the Games there is little to nothing good or clean.

**Wiress Rosen**

"Caesar, your microphone…" Wiress murmurs. It isn't operating within its most optimum parameters and all it would take would be the smallest of tweaks for her to adjust it properly.

She communicates better as part of a pair, and as much as Caesar would like to accommodate that (she isn't the only one, and it would be something of a blessing if more of them had found such able translators over the years), he has instructions to follow the usual patterns and keep all of them separate. "I appreciate the sentiment," Caesar takes her questing hand and returns it to its previous place on her knee, "But I'm sure the way it is will be good enough for me to get through this. I don't want to eat your time up with such a task, Wiress."

"To use my time productively would…" She blinks, considers this. Caesar waits as she switches tracks on her own. "In a person's life, productivity is not the only…"

"Certainly," he agrees with where he thinks she's headed, "A person's worth should not be measured only by how productive they are. If we lose you, Wiress, it won't be just a matter of all the new things you could have invented if you'd lived longer, but not getting to experience how kind and funny you are."

Her calm, somewhat quizzical expression shifts gradually to a small smile. "If people think so, then I'm happy. But…" But that's not the impression that the world of the Capitol has given her. There's always a quid pro quo (Beetee taught her that expression). When Wiress is called to the Capitol aside from mentoring, it is always with a service she can provide in mind. Even then, she can only usually manage to complete those jobs with Beetee at her side because no matter what she can puzzle out, she has no skill at transmitting those answers to most unfamiliar individuals (if Beetee is unavailable, Kelvin manages, though his temper flares and he pulls at his hair).

"But?"

"Even if I am only a small cog in a very large machine… If one part fails, it can break the whole."

For a moment, Caesar's face hints at discomfort with this line of talk, but, ever the professional, he moves on effortlessly. "And I expect that working together you and Beetee make a very elegant sort of machine. I trust you will be allies in the arena?"

"We are a pair," she agrees, "Dual orbit. Two notes in the same chord."

"Something simple, but also something deep. Wiress, that seems very much like you."

She gestures vaguely, "People…complexities…"

Her time is running short, but Caesar is patient, giving her the space she needs to voice her final thought. "Perhaps there could still be time to repurpose the parts of the old machine…"

[Beetee Latier]

**Mags Gaudet**

"Oh, Mags, I see you've brought something with you to show us?" Caesar set up Four's first victor just as she had expected he would, looking at the thin album clasped in her wrinkles arms.

That they're old pictures can be understood from context more than her actual pronouncement of those words as they escape her lips. Mags opens the album and there she is with Finnick, soon after his victory. He looks so happy- there's an innocence in his eyes that's been gone for a long time now.

"I remember this," Caesar plays along with her angle- it's a good choice for a woman who doesn't have the clarity of speech that she used to. It doesn't take many words for a victor to make a passionate statement on this stage. "We all loved Finnick from the moment we met him, didn't we, folks?" Caesar prompts the crowd, who, indeed, do love Finnick and can't have many complaints about his mentor dedicating a portion of her own alloted time to reflect on him (certainly considered her greatest achievement in many of the younger eyes).

The cameras catch a good glimpse of this page and it's enlarged overhead on the screens for all to see. Mags moves on to the next page, which is a two-page spread really, and not just a single image, but a collage of pictures of all Four's other victors- Annie, on everyone's minds because she was the one called, Theo, familiar from television and present to mentor, Song, Odysseus, Jules, Shad, and Tyde.

While she holds the book open and upright with her right hand, Mags presses her left hand to her heart. A simple gold band is visible on her ring finger- an unfamiliar piece of jewelry (though her token the first time around was also a ring- a coral one given her by the girl she volunteered for).

Next are two photos, side by side. Mags and Faline- in the same location, the porch at the front of Mags' home- once recently and once decades ago. "Best friend," jump out of Mag's slurred words for everyone to understand.

"For over sixty years!" Caesar says, emphasizing the number to drive home how long this is, "Wouldn't we all like to have a friend we could be that close to for that long? And you've been _our_ friend all those years too, haven't you, Mags? In that way, we're all lucky!"

Mags gives Caesar a sad smile, but doesn't forget to turn it to give the cameras an equally good shot at capturing her bittersweet expression.

Mags turns the page and next, there she is again, in comparison photos- last year and long ago- with Eight's late Pal Fields.

"Yes, it's a shame that when old age is starting to catch up to some of our first victors that we're hurrying some of those very same victors to the grave," Caesar agrees.

"-And- and young ones too," Caesar goes on, interpreting what he can understand from among Mags' words. "I know- were it up to me, I'd be entirely interested in keeping all of you alive and well as long as possible. Hosting the Games just isn't going to be the same with so many of you gone."

And the final picture is another of the old ones, but there's no counterpoint struck in comparison. Because the colleague Mags is pictured with there didn't live nearly long enough for a side by side comparison of them to show much change.

"Jack," she says clearly.

"Jack Umber," Caesar clarifies, "Our very first victor! Wow, there's someone I didn't think I'd be looking at today. So, Mags, the others I can understand, but why Jack Umber? I'm not sure we have room for much of a history lesson in what time you and I have left together?"

"Jack," she takes a deep breath and struggles toward intelligibility, because this part she has to say- Caesar never knew Jack and his feelings can't be conveyed by his picture. "Would never. Never have wanted this to happen. Jack wanted...y-you- all of you to love us."

She will not say that she felt certain portions of the Capitol has chosen to love them too much.

"Who would ever want harm to befall the people you love?"

"Who indeed?" Caesar agrees. "I can't blame him. Jack truly was an exemplary victor, wasn't he? Like you, Mags."

"I loved," she says, "I loved him." The words begin to blur as she chokes up with feeling. It doesn't matter if no one understands any further when she goes: "They wouldn't let us be together."

"Mags Gaudet, everyone!" Caesar raises the cheer as the clock runs out.

"Mags Umber," she murmurs, touching the ring, "Mags Umber."

[Finnick Odair]

**Phebe Burke**

"I'd hoped that the next time I was on a stage with you, Caesar, it would be because of something good," Phebe can't quite force a smile. The lights are giving her a headache. "I thought I had a chance with my tribute last year. I mean, I know dozens of them must be more or less interchangeable to you, but it hasn't been so long that you've forgotten her already, has it? She had red hair like I do."

Past tributes are not normally a good subject for interviews, but these are not normal interviews. "Yes, I remember," Caesar responds, because he does, although he's not entirely onboard to continue down the path of discussing this topic.

"Her name was Sofi Sharp. And I guess I've been thinking about what if she had won? I don't seem to be a very good mentor. I've been called twice, so I suppose people prefer me as a tribute."

"Well, aside from the appearances you put in as a mentor, we haven't seen very much of you for a long time, Phebe, so, really, I think we've just been missing you in general," Caesar tries to steer the conversation in a mild direction.

Phebe is still. She doesn't shrug or shake her head. "No," she disagrees, "I don't think so."

Caesar waits a beat, but she doesn't elaborate.

She's not giving him very useful material here and she didn't submit any remarks beforehand about what she might want to discuss. Her mentor, Shy this time around, didn't have any particularly strong suggestions of her own either.

Even though she was obviously terrified her first time in, Phebe was more talkative and pliable. Caesar didn't expect that girl to win, but he expects this woman will win even less. It's like she's not even trying. Has she given up already? In a field studded with Games superstars, being bland and boring and trying, perhaps, to be overlooked is sponsorship suicide. There are few tributes present today Caesar would be less likely to theoretically put money on than Phebe Burke.

"…Is there…anything left you'd like us to know about you, seeing as, Phebe, you've remained something of a mystery to most of us even after all these years?" Caesar tries one final time.

"I've lived a very disappointing life," she offers, "This is about all there is. I'm sure I'm sorriest about it of all."

"There's no need to apologize."

"It's just a statement. …No one is required to alter their memory and remember me as interesting if I do die. If I live…well, I suppose I won't be quite so disappointed in myself anymore." Phebe rises precisely with the ending of her time and gives a little bow. "Thank you, everyone. Thank you, Caesar."

**Hamlet Seff**

"Caesar," Hamlet clings to the announcer in an unseemly manner, "Caesar, the story I promised you! I almost finished it! I'm so close! If I could just get a few more days-"

Caesar tries to pry him off without it looking like a big deal. "Is this the same story you promised me after you won, Hamlet? I think you might work better with firm deadlines."

"N-no, I don't have time to finish, Caesar. All this time. I- I haven't finished a single one." Hamlet lets go entirely and drops his heads into his arms, muttering to himself, a tipsy mess of fear and regret. Though, generally, instructions had been for the returning tributes to appears onstage clean and sore, in Hamlet's case (among others), it had been determined that a little lubrication would go a long ways toward making him watchable television.

"Well, aside from your authorial effort, is there anything else you'd like to tell us about?"

"No. Nothing you couldn't guess, I think. I'm not really happy to be here." He wipes his nose on his sleeve. "I'm not in very good shape. I can't keep the bad stuff off my mind."

"Perhaps we'll be of some momentary help in that regard today, Hamlet. I mean, between Beetee's legal talk and Mags' photo album, there have been lots of other trails to let your mind wander down instead, and I'm sure there are still more stimulating topics yet to come."

"….Maybe once my turn is over," Hamlet frowns and seems to wonder. "Caesar, may my turn be over?"

"In the event that that's all I'm going to get out of you!" Caesar chuckles.

"I'm done," says Hamlet, "I'm done for."

**Poppy Lowell**

Poppy takes the chair hesitantly and folds up her skinny legs, pulling them up to her chest, and wrapping her even skinnier arms around them, no doubt against the advice of her stylist as this does much to obscure dark, but sparkling, sort of opalescent dress from the audience (at least it stretches down her arms all the way to her wrists to hide the marks from her drug use and the fabric, if not the cut, can be appreciated there).

"Relax, Poppy," Caesar tries to reassure her, "You're safe on this stage."

"But it's going to hurt so much," she murmurs in reply, "I didn't know the last time, but now I do. It hurt _that_ _much_ and that was even without dying."

Her eyes are glassy even now. "I still take medicine for the pain," she says.

"But you have a good strategy to try and avoid getting hurt, don't you? You got a long way into your Games without being injured," Caesar recalls, "Will you use that same strategy?"

"To curl up and hide? Yes. Yes," she rocks slightly forward and back into the chair, "I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to be hurt."

Poppy falls quiet, but just as Caesar is about to fill the silence, she speaks up again. "Some of us act something, but. But when we get hurt, the pain is real. Don't people here know what hurts? Not in the Games, but by on the job or by accident?"

Perhaps her point would hit harder if she didn't so hold her stare so constantly into Caesar's eyes and blink away from the cameras, but these are more words than she has spoken in public for twenty years.

She begins to cry and her time runs out.

Some seconds are wasted as Caesar must coax her back out of the chair. Simeon comes up ahead of his cue to help and suddenly the task if quickly finished.

**Simeon Katz**

"Thank you for the assistance," Caesar greets him, "Now, what's on your mind, Simeon?"

"Because," Simeon stumbles to lay his words out properly to convey the idea floating around in his head, "Because of the Quell, I-" he is distracted by the movement of the light over Poppy's dress glinting out of the corner of his eyes, "-They made me betray myself. I help Poppy out, you know. I try to keep her from hurting. But now I have to take her back to the cruelest spot there is and you probably want me to hurt her too."

"Did I ever say that, Simeon?" Caesar seems mock hurt and Simeon doesn't deign to respond. "…For my part, I wouldn't be surprised to see a much higher than average number of alliances in general and between district partners in particular, seeing as how long so many of you have been acquainted."

"It goes without saying," Simeon agrees. "She will always be my partner."

"Maybe that's just what District Six has needed all along!" Caesar tries to be encouraging, "Some team spirit!"

"Teamwork won't fix my asthma," Simeon says, but Caesar smiles in a manner that encourages the audience to take this reference to a common District Six ailment as a quip.

"Poppy doesn't have asthma," he notes uselessly. He can't outright tell people, "If you're picking us, sponsor Poppy, not me," or at least he can't think to do so, but for everything Haymitch and the others told him, between Poppy and those kids from Twelve, he'd die for Poppy first. If the country changes, maybe her pain can be dulled forever. Maybe her brothers can welcome her back into their family. Yes, Poppy can run and she can hide. Do those things long enough and she might live to see a better day.

"Anything else, Simeon? Anything about you?"

"Um, I like your hair color this year. The Capitol is still full of very, very, very many beautiful colors."

[Johanna Mason]

**Blight Alen**

"'M sorry, Caesar," Blight mumbles. His speech is clearer now than it had been during his last stint in the spotlight following his Games and during his Victory Tour, but it still isn't up to normal. His clarity of speech comes and goes and being nervous only exasperates the problem. Back home he speaks best, but it's not as if he speaks much there either. The last person he talked to a lot was Raisin Hiro. With Kes or with Khamphan, a look or two in silence says about as much as words do. He usually just waves a couple of times a day to Izzy Meyer as he comes and goes from the home he shares with his grandfather.

"Oh, there's no need for you to apologize to us, Blight. I'm honored to have you back on my stage in any condition."

Honored to have him back to die for sure this time, Blight thinks. He doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to die this time any more than the first time. But they're not all going to make it until the appointed time- even all the ones who are part of the plan. Odds are worst for Woof and Sim and Poppy among their lot, at least Mags will have Finnick at her side, but Blight's not exactly in the top tier category of skill or importance to the rebellion.

"Never thought I'd. Same as everyone else. Never though I'd be here again. Never thought. I'd be this scared again."

"Scared?" Caesar follows along with this line of thought- it speaks to the battered condition of the victors that so many of their interviews rely so heavily on his ability to interpret their intent from fragmentary speech or muddled thoughts. Most are in a worse state than they were the first time around.

Blight nods. "Scared, of course. I was. Was the first time barely the lucky to survive- I wasn't the best. Among better, I am not better myself."

"But we know you now, Blight, so certainly there will be viewers out there rooting for you."

A bitter laugh leaves his lips. Root for him out of all this bunch? There might have been a few how picked him out of and were happy to see him win in his year, but with twenty-three other victors arrayed around him, he doubts there is anyone saying, "Oh, Blight Alen is my favorite! Just wait 'til he gets his hands around a hefty axe handle and takes out the rest of the competition!"

"Past my prime," he shakes his head, "Can't promise entertainment."

"I'm sure you'll surprise us all the same," Caesar continues on mildly.

The only way Blight can surprise any of them, he thinks, is not to die. For a good two-thirds of them that is the biggest surprise possible (for all of them it would be the best). He is resolved to try as hard as he can to pull off that surprise.

**Cecelia Songket**

"How are you feeling sitting here today, Cecelia?" Caesar inquires.

The pretty woman before him shifts nervously in her seat. "As well as I suppose as could be expected, but I just keep thinking of my children back home, and my husband. I'm worried about them more than myself, to be honest. What are they thinking as they watch me walk this path?"

"I could hardly turn aside this opportunity to invite you to give a message to them here on my stage. Please," Caesar prompts her, "Send your heart out to David and the little ones. Use as much time on them as you like- it's only understandable that what may be your last words to them are more important than whatever you could discuss with me."

"Oh, thank you so much, Caesar. You've always known well how to be marvelously kind."

She takes a deep breath before she begins in earnest, "David, Sloe, Zeke, 'Lalia, most of all, know that you are always in my heart and in my thoughts and that I love you more than anyone. Whatever I do in that arena, none of that will ever change. I was honored to be your wife and your mom. And I know it may be hard, but please don't blame Miranda or Chrissie for my being here today. They aren't the ones who called me- the president who read and followed the rules of this Quell card is. This is too difficult a thing for me to wish for anyone else to be standing here in my place. It seems that the Games are my destiny- the cloth of fate that's been cut for me to wear." Tears are welling up in the corners of her eyes. "I will do the best I can to wear it well."

"That was beautiful," Caesar raises a hand to wipe a tear, whether real or an imaginary one for effect from his own eye, "Thank you for letting us share this moment with you, Cecelia, just as you've shared so many other memorable ones with us."

What other choice did she ever have if she wanted to have and to keep a husband and children, but to share their sight of them with the Capitol? But what she has let the audiences see will be a worthwhile trade if the rebellion succeeds and frees them?

"I hope someday my children can be proud of me," she declares. Not for the lives she's taken, but what she has done in the service of breaking the Capitol's cruel hold. She knows that David, hearing this, will understand. She would give anything to protect her children. As any other mother would.

"I'm sure they will be when they're old enough to truly understand," Caesar agrees with whatever value he's ascribed to her words.

**Woof Cambray**

"How are you doing, Woof? It's been six or seven years since I've seen you in the Capitol."

"Hmm?" Woof hears this at least, even if knowing what he wants to say to it doesn't come so easily. "It's hard getting old."

"Indeed, this is a game for the young! But, alas, in some places, youth wasn't an option this year."

"I don't hear too well and the balance thing's gotten worse." He pauses. "…who's my tribute this year?"

"You've switched places, Woof. You're the tribute and Miranda is mentoring you."

"But Miranda's going to be killer with a razor-"

"And she was, Woof! But that was over forty years ago. It's your turn again- you may not have the same ears, but how about your hands?"

"My hands?" Woof looks down at them. "My hands shake."

"How do you feel about being the oldest male tribute- and the second oldest tribute overall- in this quell?"

"I don't know some of these people very well… …But Mags is here! Is Mags never not here?"

"Kind of an old mainstay, I know," Caesar laughs and the camera captures Mags as she rolls her eyes.

"But, but," Woof grows anxious, "Where's Pal? Where's my mentor? He should be here."

"Like I was saying, Woof, Miranda is your mentor now. Pal passed away, remember?"

"Pal promised me," Woof barks, his voice tight with anxiety, "Before me! Before me always!"

Caesar's attempts at soothing him just aren't going far enough. Chrissie and Miranda fret in the crowd, but what can they do to placate him? "Caesar?" Cecelia speaks up cautiously.

Caesar waves her down, grateful for the help (the better to keep his program flowing properly).

Cecelia takes Woof's hand and whispers into his ear, rather loudly so that the microphones pick up bits and traces of words. Caesar, meanwhile, speaks over this, thanking Woof for his time and trouble. "No, Woof," Cecelia leads him back to the proper place, "He isn't. He isn't."

**Honey Hallwell**

"Hello, Honey. You've still got some of that color in your hair that gave you your name."

"Yes, I suppose so. And my bees are well also. Umm, as a matter of fact, Caesar, I brought you something from them…" From inside a pocket, Honey produces a glass bottle filled with a golden yellow substance. It shines under the bright studio lights. "Am I allowed to give this to you?"

"I think that under the circumstances, I should be allowed to accept." Caesar takes the jar from her. "Honey's honey. I haven't had this in years. I look forward to seeing if it tastes even better than before."

"I'm better with the bees than I used to be," Honey says, "But it's up tot hem, not me, how the honey tastes. …And they're bound to go on working after me…"

"What will go on with the bees while you're away?" Caesar concentrates on the current state of things, avoiding the morbid future.

Honey isn't as delicate about it. "Well, for now they're fine on their own, but I'm leaving them to Ombry and Cesar. We've all been learning together over the years. Hopefully they've get along all right."

"Between the rabbits and the baby, I suppose they have a good track record when it comes to taking care of living things."

Honey flinches at "the baby." She wishes he wouldn't mention that, but none of them are ever allowed to leave behind their pasts. She will always be the girl who dog-paddled through sewage and the woman who gave birth to an unwanted child with malformed arms and legs. A tabloid freak story and never once a successful mentor. "Better than mine," she sighs.

"You shouldn't feel bad- that's hardly the approach one needs to take in the arena."

"I'm not sure I'll do much better killing really," she admits, "I just think, if I last a while, I hope it's not a cold arena and I hope whoever gets me doesn't feel the need to do it in a really painful or drawn out way." Honey look back over her shoulder at the other victors, "You're all here. You don't have anything to prove, okay, folks?"

"I think she's talking to you, District Two," Caesar carries on.

Enobaria grins, all teeth and ferocity, but Brutus shakes his head. "I read you, Honey," he accepts it as a request. She won't put a fight in exchange for a mercy kill. If they all have to do this, it's the least he can do for the ones with no desire or ability to participate. They don't deserve any further humiliation.

"I'm worn out, Caesar. Thanks for this one last time. Now I'd just like to get out of the spotlight and watch what's left of the show."

"You're welcome, Honey. Relax for a while and enjoy the rest. …there are still some wonderful tributes yet to come!"

"Yeah, your favorites," Honey quirks her lip.

**Holland Taunch**

"I'm tryin' to get a count," Holland explains his little project of the moment, the thing he's using to fill his mind to fend off the urge to constantly panic in his final days, "Of how many of us victors have come back with the same token as the first time around and how many of us have new ones."

"That's so like you, Holland, to always have an eye on the actions of the people around you. So," Caesar runs with this, "Which of these categories do you fall into?"

"Heh," Holland opens his palm to reveal his old Buffalo Nickel, a outdated bit of American currency, "As if I'd consider anything but the same old token that accompanied me through this before." It speaks, in a way, to how little luck Holland has had in his life since. No item has become more meaningful to him. There are no new tokens.

"During the commercial break you'll have to ask around and take a final tally. …You're making me curious about this myself!"

"Ah," Holland sighs, "You're easy that way."

"Well, I hope your bothering telling me so is a sign that you have more fight left in you than your partner does, Holland."

Holland puts is token away into one of his pockets and taps his fingers on the arms of the chair, "…Allegra is only the victor from my decade who isn't back for this round or dead already."

"…Oh?" Caesar asks, not sure where Holland is going with this (or whether Holland _is_ headed anywhere in particular in the first place). "Is it a disappointment to you that Allegra is missing from the line up?"

"Nah, not really. Good on her not to let us have a complete blow-out for the forties here, assuming maybe Brutus doesn't make it home."

"That group just made up too entertaining a decade for us to turn down, I suppose," Caesar tries to seize upon something to discuss, but Holland only laughs at this suggestion.

"Great grains, but, ah, I won't cut down any of these folks, but I'm hardly a grand contribution to any lineup! Caesar, I hope you're not forgetting- I am the youngest victor in District Nine! One never knows how the fate of one's district will turn."

"You could be your district's newest victor again," Caesar suggests, careful not to show how the zigs and zags of Holland's conversation may wear on him, "That would certainly make for a marvelous turn in District Nine's fortunes."

"Yes," he shakes his head, "Yes, it would." Remembering one last thing he gives the cameras a little wave of just his fingers as he explains, "I have two kids out there, you know? You must both be grown by now. …Dad'll be going."

**Akane Celice**

"Akane, you look young enough to be it your first time around."

Akane bats her eyelashes. "Oh, Caesar! Some of us are just destined to stay young-looking longer than others. Yourself, for instance. Though, you know I wasn't looking very myself in the parade, but my stylist's played more to my signature style today. I know Katniss is the only one anyone wants to see twirl, but maybe a quick front-back, if I may?"

"Please," Caesar encourages her with a lift of his hand.

Akane stands and gives the cameras one quick turn on her red kitten heels, followed by a rodeo-style bow, despite having no hat to remove, and sits back down. "If I die, I want to go to my pyre in this dress. Cordelia said no, Caesar, so I'm bringing it up here so everyone can pressure her on my behalf when I'm gone. …I just think she wants an opportunity to make me one last dress, but I think this one is perfect! And if I don't get to see it, how will I know I like it? Shouldn't a girl on the way to her execution get to pick her own funeral attire?"

"Well, let's get that put on paper and in that unfortunate event I'll get to it myself- though I don't think you should be thinking so negatively just yet, Akane- you're clever and healthy and there's plenty more I'm sure you want out of life.

"I know Cordelia hasn't been responsible for all your wardrobe, but I think she left her impact on her your well-known fashion sense."

"I guess?" Akane shrugs, "I'm sad that I never got to wear a Cinna even once. I like the yellow dress."

"And I'm sure you would've looked adorable in one," Caesar pats her hand. "Another thing certainly on many minds with your appearing here alongside you mentor, Dace, is what kind of tag team tactics we can expect from you as a pair."

"Daddy and I," Akane starts before correcting herself, acting slightly embarrassed to have uttered this nickname in public, though the move most likely holds some measure of calculation, "Dace. Dace and I don't know much about fighting together. Dace must know much more about how I fought in the past than I do about how he did. We're just going to have to make it up as we go."

"I imagine there are advantages to not being too tightly locked into any set plan."

"There's one thing though that's fixed as the sun in the heavens, Caesar, whether _the president_ is happy to be done with us or he's sad. I would never hurt Dah- Dace and he would never hurt me."

"Thank you, Akane!"

"Akane Celice, everyone!" Caesar raises her tiny hand over her head as he swaps her out for the district partner, former mentor, and romantic partner (much gossiped-over due to their other connections and age difference).

**Dace Liatta**

Dace and Akane give one another a funny, comradely bump of arms from wrist to elbow as they pass one another.

"Like I was saying earlier about district partnerships- Ten's got a pair to watch out for, I think!" Caesar exclaims.

Dace clasps Caesar's hand and gives it a hearty shake, his usual form of greeting. "Akky about covered the most of it, I imagine," he rubs the back of his neck and squints at the lights in his equally familiar, "aww, shucks," manner.

"Well, if Akane's gone and stolen your thunder in regard to Games strategy, take the opportunity to tell me what else is on your mind, Dace."

"Umm, I would like to lodge a complaint to the world at large? Number one: I was working on a new dance routine before the Quell was announced, but since I was an absolute lock, seeing as I'm the only male victor Ten's ever had, I lost all desire to finish it, so that's that. Number two: I poured an awful lot into helping Akane with the expectation I would get to see her grow old."

"Dace," Caesar jokes, "Are you asking the Sponsorship Board for a refund?"

Dace gestures with his forefinger and thumb to indicate a very small amount. "Maybe just a partial one?"

"Anything else?"

"I am hoping there might be a bola or two for me at the Cornucopia? Might as well go one last round with my signature weapon."

"I suppose we never know what the Gamemakers have in store for us. -Sponsors, you know Dace is looking for if he doesn't get his wish."

Dace's responding expression is conflicted. He'd rather any money go to Akane, but he does intend to be there to help her. …And, in any case, he thinks they're both dead anyway.

**Seeder Greenwile**

"You're certainly festive and summery with that flower in your hair," Caesar compliments the next victor up, "Did it make the journey with your from Eleven or does it boast a more local provenance?"

She reaches up and absently touches the white bloom. "Well, I didn't bring it along on the trip, so I doubt it's traveled as far to be here as I have unless my stylist is keeping things from me. I'm glad she's backing away from that pervasive fire theme for the interview because I think all her work with artificial-enhanced flowers is really starting to go to some amazing places. …the fairy wings for last year's interview were something lovely too. I almost wish something like that would've suited my looks."

"Oh, you should've pushed for it," Caesar speaks sympathetically, enjoying this fairly mundane exchange with her, "You could've pulled it off!"

Seeder laughs in a low, natural manner. "Ha, you're as much a flatterer as ever, but I'm no flighty teenage now, I know better."

"You've always been one of our more well-spoken victors, Seeder," Caesar shifts the subject slightly, "So I imagine whatever thoughts about the Quell you may want to share with us will have been carefully considered beforehand."

"Thank you, Caesar," she inclines her head politely, "It's true, I do have a little bit I'd like to say about the Quell. It takes a little context to understand though, so bear with me here…"

"I will hang on your every word," he promises.

"In District Eleven, it's one of those things like the changing of the seasons, an immutable truism of the world- the sun rises, the sun sets, the president takes care of everyone and everything. President Snow's got to be the most powerful person in the world- he's certainly more powerful than the president before him- I can tell you that and I was only a little girl during the previous regime. There's nothing in Panem that won't bend to his will. For the Quell to be what it is then, I suppose the means one of two things. Either that President Snow really isn't that powerful, or this particular Quarter Quell suits him just fine." Seeder shakes her head. "Either way, I guess I'm a little disappointed."

"Looking out at the crowd tonight, Seeder, at least you can rest assured that you're not the only one," Caesar squeezes her hand.

**Chaff Evaugustine**

Chaff barely allows for a few seconds to exchange pleasantries with Caesar, primed from his partner's words to speak to the crux of the current situation. "Hey, you know Seeder's got me thinking, right?" he cuts into the last of Caesar's words in his rush to make his mind known, "President Snow is all-powerful- I honestly can't consider that part of the equation to be in doubt. If he wanted to, he could change this Quell. He could stand up from his seat and do it right this moment, call into the show live and tell you the whole thing's off-pick a new Quell card, reschedule the thing…! Hell, if he wanted to, he could cancel this year's Games entirely!"

"So, Chaff, does this mean you think-" Caesar tries to step in and guide this train of thought a little.

"I think he doesn't do anything to change it because he doesn't think it matters much to anyone," he is pointing in his accusation.

"Well, all he has to do is look around the audience here tonight to see that there are many Capitol citizens with strong feelings about the Quell…"

Chaff keeps on quickly bulldozing forward, "Yeah, yeah, he does. …And it won't take any special committees or presidential cabinet meetings for him to get a read on which way that wind is blowing."

[Katniss Everdeen]

[Peeta Mellark]

Twenty-four victors stand together just once before they begin to fall.


End file.
